Correspondence
by ScumFreezebag
Summary: Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy stay in touch over the summer.
1. The Chapter That Must Not Be Named

**Just reposting this from my old account.**

**Blanket disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling. Since, obviously, you people wouldn't know that. Because J.K. would OBVIOUSLY have a small unpopular account on .**

Dear Rose,

I am glad to say that my summer vacation is well underway. It is much quieter in my home life away from Hogwarts without you screaming and throwing hexes at me. I have even found myself missing the pastries you enjoy throwing at my head during breakfast. I shall try to follow your advice… what was it? "Don't let all of that rich pureblood cutlery that seems to be permanently implanted in your ass seep into your writing."

I assure you, my demeanour is entirely hereditary. Anyway, you asked me to keep up the correspondence up this summer. I am afraid that there is a slight chance my mother might read your or my letters without our realization. You have been warned. Home is… the same as usual. It's quiet, and I have no doubt you would call it cold. But I am accustomed to it.

I have spent my time studying and failing to improve my Quidditch. I have no doubt that you and the rest of the Hufflepuff team will defeat the Slytherins (ha ha ha), but a boy can dream. I am afraid that I must decline your request for a visit, as everyone in both our families (other than us, it seems, and Albus) is painfully aware of my lineage and house placement. In fact, I am rather shocked that you have come past all of that. Especially considering the small battles you and Thomas Lestrange always seem to be engaged in.

Anyway, Always wishing you well,

Scorpius Narcissus Malfoy.

Dearest Scorpius and his eavesdropping mother,

Oh, come off your high horse. Just because you're anal-retentive doesn't mean you have to write like that. And the screaming/hex-throwing thing is just when you are equally angry and bellowing your lungs off. And pastries just look SO FUNNY when you put them in thin blond hair.

Oh, and to your mother? If she's reading, she should know how much good all those elocution classes went to on you. I swear, half the time you talk to me (excluding Screaming/hex-throwing/pastry-chucking times) you're all pink and stuttering. And your house is FRIGID. You do have to come and stay. Mum is fine with you coming, and Hugo just has an empty space in exchange for a brain. Sure, he goes on and on and on and ON about his grades. But he doesn't even like Quidditch. Also, the Slytherin-hating is hereditary. My sense of pity for lost causes just overcomes instinct.

Sure, I hate good ol' Tom Lestrange. If you called me half the names he did, you'd have a lot more than forks in certain areas. And shut up about the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. I'm Captain this year and we'll kick your pale silverware-filled arses. By the way, don't expect anything other than one-paragraph note once a month from Albus. He's not really up to letter writing. I need to get him a computer.

Anyways, I do miss you too. Plus, I told Hugo off for saying you shouldn't come. In my usual way. You should have seen his face. In fact, I'll send you a picture. I have been practicing my Keeping, and I have the rest of my cousins to play against when I need to practice. You have an elderly house elf. By the way, I bet your family is mean to your house elf. Go down to wherever that elf lives and give them a big hug. Go on. My letter can wait while you hug your neglected house-elf.

Love,

Rose

P. S. Scorpius, Hugo wants you to know that your next make-out session is scheduled for next Friday.

P. P. S. I bet you just turned pink and started stuttering after reading that last bit. You owe me a galleon.

P. P. P. S. And to your dearest mother, the first part WASN'T a joke. They're planning on a June wedding.

P. P. P. P. S. And Scorp, you're turning red. You owe me two galleons.

P. P. P. P. P. S. Hugo's reading over my shoulder and turning increasingly closer to burgundy. Your boyfriend is beating you out for facial colouring.

_I wish you to know, Malfoy, I have positively no interest in you_

Right, now that I've got my quill and parchment back from my thieving brother, write me back soon.

Scorpius's mother was very offended over Rose's letter, though she tried not to show it. And Scorpius was suddenly known to burst into fits of laughter at random times. It should be noted that he would write several drafts of any letter before sending it to Rose. He also kept every letter she'd ever sent him in a box under his bed.


	2. The Chapter Who Lived

**Okay, here's the next chapter. **

**Disclaimer: Go read the blanket disclaimer again if you actually care.**

**…**

Hermione knew that Rose liked Scorpius. Rose didn't know that yet. As perceptive as she could be about everyone around her, she tended to realise things slowly about herself. Ron (thank goodness) had positively no clue about anything in that region. He probably wouldn't even really realise they were good friends until their wedding day; he'd perhaps notice that they were in a relationship when the grandchildren started coming along.

**…**

Dear Rose,

There's a matter that's been troubling me. A few days ago, a few of my father's work associates came to our house for dinner. Most of them seemed quite impressed by both our means, and our hospitality. After, of course, they got over their suspicion. One, however, shot all members of our family venomous glares throughout the meal. I believe was named Ernie Macmillan. His hand, noticeably, was never far from his wand. At a certain point, he mentioned that his wife was a muggle. I replied with interest. He immediately exploded into a rage, yelling at my father. Then he glared at me and said "It's clear the apple didn't fall far from the tree." Our other guests were shocked by his behaviour. I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.

Also, I did hug my house-elf. It seems you were right about him being neglected. He immediately burst into violent sobs and started bowing. For the entire week, he's been giving me looks of watery admiration and joy. It is, frankly, a bit awkward. Still, luckily, my parents have not noticed the matter. They find fraternisation with the help quite scandalous.

I was in an accident a yesterday. I unfortunately tripped on a flight of stairs (an event I'd expect from you and your accident-prone self before myself) and broke my nose. It was rapidly healed and there's no permanent damage to my visage. However, I am currently forced to walk about with a cast on my face. I'm quite sure that the sight of it would amuse you greatly.

I have sent this message through my new owl, Pluto. We need no longer fear eavesdroppers reading our words to each other. I think my mother believes I am interested in your brother. She read your last letter and saw me looking at the enclosed picture. She has been pushing even more pureblood girls to be an arranged bride than usual of late. Also, I recently have heard her mutter "I wish at least it could have been a nice pureblood boy."

Sincerely,

Scorpius Narcissus Malfoy

P.S. What is a computer?

**…**

Scorpius,

Good for you, hugging that elf. I'll have to tell Hugo that you're cheating on him, though. A computer is a device that is useful for hitting idjits like you over the head with. Honestly, now I know why I beat you in Muggle Studies. Also, a nose brace? It'll probably be off by now. I can just imagine myself falling down a flight of stairs, but you? Mr. I'm-so-clever-but-I-still-can't-beat-Rose-in-Muggle-Studies-because-I'm-not-nearly-half-as-smart-as-I-think-I-am-and-shouldn't-make fun-of-Rose-for-being-clumsy-because-it's-not-her-fault-Malfoy. And your mother shall never stop you and Hugo's epic love story.

And now about what you mentioned in your last letter. I know how hard it was for you to confide in someone, so congratulations. And I can tell that your feelings were really hurt because you didn't say "merely" once. And you, Scorpius, are not an apple. You are an orange. You bruise really easily and can't throw a punch for your life and are really hard to open up but are much nicer, really, than ANY of the apples I know and you're my favourite orange, Scorpius, really. And you are MUCH nicer than Albus or James or Hugo or even Teddy. So you are not some foul apple but really an orange. And even if your dad hates me and my parents, I'm sure he's a perfectly nice person.

And if you do want me to send a Howler to Ernie Macmillan for you, I will.

Love,

Rose

P.S. Honestly, this owl is JUST LIKE YOU. He struts around and tries to look all stately but fails miserably. Also, he's pretty unpopular with all of our owls. They keep trying eat him. Even Pig, my dad's ANCIENT tiny owl.

**…**

Hey Scorp,

this is al. I am ataching this to rose's letter. Surry if she makes fun of you alot. I heare you about hufflepuff sucking at quidditch. Don't tell rose I said that, though. She'd get realy mad.

Bye

**… **

**No, Albus isn't illiterate. He just needs spell check. Badly. **


End file.
